was i wrong to seize your alcatraz with my hind foot the day we etched this moon arcade? i thought it all meant more than it all really did. we left an imprint instructing dolphins to bind themselves together as they leapt to never come back up for air. it was imprisoned with the sort of story we cash in on with newspaper's ink skulls as emblems of truth. i want to label this with chopin playing softly at your quarter note rest site where you sift ants through a sieve considering how much i loved you. as if we could maintain some constant thing. oranges in the afternoon. it sours the balloon earth to indigo this sky with our moon fountain if paradise can list us as compliant. instead of dear light you- because love is light. there can be pale light, bright light, dark light. there can be the absence of light.
dear dim bulb. your shadows entertain me.
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"Ring the bells that still can ring.
Forget your perfect offering.
There is a crack in everything.
That's how the light gets in."
- L. Cohen
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